


1001 Arthurian Nights

by thenerdyindividual



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Canon Era, Friends to Lovers, Gwaine Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Harems, King Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), M/M, Magic, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Sex Magic, Sharing a Bed, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:01:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25472791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdyindividual/pseuds/thenerdyindividual
Summary: Arthur is attempting to make peace with the kingdoms of Albion, and if that means having to spend most of winter holed up in a castle in the North freezing his backside off, then so be it. The king in question is eager to make peace, and offers up tokens of his good will, including access to his bedwarmers (read: harem). On the way there. they meet a servant with a distinct lack of respect for, well, anyone, and he is far more interesting to Arthur than any woman could hope to be. There's something mysterious behind the cheeky smiles and cryptic comments, and Arthur is determined to figure it out, even if it means bringing him back to Camelot at the end of winter.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 63
Kudos: 370





	1. Chapter 1

Arthur shivers and pulls his cloak tighter around himself as they ride. Winter has reached even the south, and the north’s winters are known to be harsh. Traveling to the northern coast in the early stages of winter is madness, and he is well aware of it, but he couldn’t exactly decline the invitation from King Bladud. Making peace with all the kingdoms in Albion is far more important than keeping all his fingers safe from frostbite. 

Even so, he tried to leave as many of his men behind as he could. As much as he would have liked to bring Leon with him as a trusted advisor, he was also the only man he could trust to rule in his stead. No doubt he’ll be stuck with Baldud through midwinter, too dangerous to travel the hills until after first thaw. So that leaves him with Kay, Bedivere, Owain, and Lancelot.

He feels a slight twinge of guilt at the last. He’d long ago given Lancelot his blessing to pursue Gwen, despite the failed romantic entanglement between himself and her, and he would probably have much preferred the opportunity to stay by her side. Arthur hadn’t enjoyed calling him away for so long, but if he couldn’t have Leon there to advise him he needed someone he trusted as much. That left Lancelot to take up the position on this journey. 

It’s been slow going due to the weather, and they all have to take turns guiding the cart horse hauling the trunks they packed. Today it’s Owain’s job.

Snowflakes, flat and heavy, drift down to settle on them all. They melt, leaving them all damp and uncomfortable even with the extra protection of their wool cloaks. The horses’ breath steam the air as they ride, obscuring much of the landscape in mist. It leaves Arthur squinting through a haze, trying to keep an eye out for the landmarks indicated on his map. The map that is also getting wet despite his best efforts to shield it from the elements. 

Lancelot rides up beside him, peering over the hem of Arthur’s cloak to get a look at the map. He too squints at the horizon, trying to make out their location through the blanket of snow. 

“I think we should spot it just beyond that hill, sire.” Lancelot says, and points out a bend in the river that matches the map.

Arthur sighs in relief, and claps Lancelot’s shoulder, “Well spotted.”

Encouraged, the men urge their horses forward. The sound of their hooves is muffled by the crunch of snow, a steady squeak as they go at a brisk walk. As much as a warm castle sounds like a blessing at the moment, they can’t risk a horse putting their foot through a dodgy bit of snow and twisting its ankle.

They follow the curve of the river, and a castle appears as though out of thin air. It is slightly smaller than Arthur’s own in Camelot, but a big castle would be difficult to keep warm in such weather. It makes sense then, that it isn’t as grand as they pictured. The grey stone almost gets lost among the snow.

Their arrival is met with some fanfare. King Baldud stands at the top of the steps to the castle, bundled in thick furs, and Arthur envies the warmth. He seems a rotund man, but that could easily be explained by the thick layers he’s wearing in order to ward off the chill. His beard is thick and dark, spattered with grey. He has an open friendly face as they approach.

Arthur grins broadly, trying to ooze the charm he usually does. He ignores the fact that his trousers cling to his legs in a decidedly unpleasant way even through all the layers he donned that morning his legs are clammy. It’s his own fault for insisting on riding instead of taking a carriage.

“Baldud!” Arthur calls cheerfully.

Baldud smiles back, and spreads his arms in a welcoming gesture, “Arthur. We are glad to have you.”

Arthur hands his reins to a stable boy, then mounts the steps. Baldud places his hands firmly on Arthur’s shoulders, and hauls him in close. He plants a rather wet kiss on Arthur’s cheek before releasing him, and Arthur can hear Owain snort in amusement.

“I thank you for inviting us.”

Baldud peers over Arthur’s shoulder, squinting in confusion, “Our kingdoms were once great allies. I look forward to rebuilding that trust, although I thought your party would be bigger.”

“I thought as many of my men should be home with their loved ones over midwinter as possible.” Arthur says through gritted teeth.

Baldud laughs jovially, “Of course. Of course. Come then.”

Arthur follows him up the stairs, the knights trailing behind them. As they enter, heat begins to seep back into Arthur’s body, and he has to bite back a groan at how good it feels. He can see Lancelot out of the corner of his eye doing the same thing.

A flurry of servants arrive then. A few surround the knights, chivying them on to their quarters. Another starts to lead Arthur away, assuring him that a servant will deliver his thing shortly. Before he can really get a handle on the situation, he is separated from his men and Baldud, and deposited in a room. Again, it isn’t as big his own, but that hardly matters when there’s a fire already roaring in the grate.

He sheds his sodden cloak, then stands in front of the fire in order to warm his hands. His door swings open, and a servant delivers the trunk he brought with him. He hands Arthur a note inviting his party to dinner, then leaves as silently as he arrived.

*

Dinner is warm if nothing else. It consists of several hearty stews, and bread. There’s warm mulled wine to drink, and Arthur wraps his hands around the mug hoping the heat will soak into him and never leave.

If he had been father, he would have probably taken offense at the lack of feast. Arthur is relieved. He’s exhausted from travel, and the idea of having to stay up late to be merry makes him physically ill.

“I know we would both like this treaty to be signed quickly,” Baldud says conversationally, “But seeing as you will be here for many months yet, I thought I might give you all some time to settle in. I have no desire to see this fall apart before it’s begun because I pushed you too hard.”

“I appreciate the offer, and gladly accept,” Arthur says, “Is three days to rest and adjust to the cold acceptable?”

“Perfectly.” 

“Thank you.”

“I noticed you did not arrive with any servants. Will you be needing to borrow any for your stay?”

“I have done without a servant before, I am happy to do so again.” Arthur assures him. Honestly it’s a relief to get away from George. A man who makes jokes about brass is not someone he can stand for very long without getting a headache.

“Very well.” Baldud agrees, “Then I wish to offer you all another sign of my good will.”

Arthur stifles another groan. He hates when kings do this. It’s never enough to just trust each other, there always has to be some exchange. It drives him mad trying to match his own gift to the one being offered.

He smiles, and tries to make it reach his eyes, “Your hospitality is gift enough.”

“Nonsense. My father was the one who broke the treaty with your grandfather. It is only right that I make it up to you.”

“Very well.”

Baldud leans back in his chair with a satisfied sigh, “I want to offer you and my men access to the east wing.”

“The east wing?” Arthur asks when he means _do shut up and get to the point._

“It grows very cold here in the winter, and I keep a fine collection of bedwarmers. Any women you would like are yours to use.”

“To be clear, you’re offering us companions for the duration of our stay.”

“After a fashion.” Baldud agrees.

“We thank you for your generosity.” Arthur says, and takes a hearty sip of wine.

He can already see Bedivere, Kay, and Owain eagerly wolfing down their dinner to get to the women all the faster. Lancelot looks uncomfortable, and he surreptitiously touches the pendant Gwen made him through the fabric of his shirt. Arthur isn’t particularly interested. He prefers to know his partners, and has rarely had to deal with the uncontrollable arousal that seems to dog most of his men every day.

After dinner Baldud points them in the direction of the east wing, and then retires to his own chambers. Lancelot vanishes into the knights’ quarters without any hesitation. Idle curiosity has Arthur tagging along with the rest of his men. He doubts highly that he will meet anyone that sparks his interest, but maybe there might be someone he can find that he can invite later if he gets truly bored.

It becomes clear rather quickly that while Baldud’s castle is smaller than Camelot’s, it is infinitely more confusing. The corridors have this awful habit of twisting around a corner at the last second, forcing you to make the turn with them rather than run into a wall. He can’t be sure they’re even headed east at this point.

“I should’ve brought my compass.” Bedivere jokes.

Owain and Kay lean heavily against the wall, looking dead on their feet.

“We can always try again tomorrow.” Arthur says, trying to reassure them. 

“I don’t even think I could find my way back to the knights’ quarters from here.” Kay points out.

One night in, and they’re already lost.

Arthur is considering just how embarrassing it would be to shout for help, when he hears footsteps. A servant rounds the corner, hefting a large basket of laundry in his arms. He’s tall, with gangly limbs. That’s about all Arthur can see with the mountain of laundry obscuring the man’s face.

“You there!” Kay calls.

The man comes to a halt, and has to lean away from the basket in order to see them. He has dark hair, a delicate face, and ears that stick out just slightly. 

“Something I can help you with?” he asks, not sounding at all worried about making sure they’re pleased with his work.

“We’re looking for the east wing.” 

The man grimaces, “I wouldn’t if I were you. They’ll be gossiping about how flat your asses are by morning, and I’m convinced at least one of them has killed a man.”

Arthur’s bark of laughter startles even himself. The man’s honesty is a surprise, and it sparks something in Arthur’s chest.

Kay gets that surly look on his face that means he’s about to throw his weight around, and draws himself to his full height, “I didn’t ask for your opinion, I asked where it was.”

The man raises his eyebrows, and cocks his head, “Actually you told me you were looking for it.”

Arthur stifles another bark of laughter, and grabs Kay by the elbow as he moves to teach the man a lesson in manners.

“Would you direct us there?” Owain asks.

“Sure. You’re not far. It’s just another left, and a right.” the man says, and disappears behind his pile of laundry again.

Owain, Kay, and Bedivere start to walk away, but Arthur remains rooted to the spot. He hasn’t felt that spark in his chest since he kissed Gwen. It’s been nearly a year since then.

“Sire, are you coming?” Bedivere calls, poking his head back around the corner.

“You go ahead. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Bedivere disappears back around the corner, and Arthur moves in the opposite direction. He catches up to the man after just a few moments.

The man glances back over his shoulder and his lips tighten at the sight of Arthur, “Did you need something else?”

“No.”

“Then why are you following me?”

Arthur shrugs, smug grin spreading across his face, “There’s something about you.”

“Yes. I have been known to have an unexplainable charm.” the man says dryly, and ducks through a hidden doorway in the wall.

Arthur follows after him, and they end up trekking down three flights of stairs in near darkness. Only the occasional torch lights their way. More than once he reaches out to prevent the man from tumbling down the stairs, but the man is steadier on his feet than he looks.

They emerge into what must be the laundry room. Large tubs of water stand along one wall, a fire burns low in one corner, and the rest is taken up by drying lines. 

The man sets his basket down on a table, and rolls up his sleeves. The action exposes silver cuff-style bracelets on each of his wrists. Arthur finds himself transfixed by the etchings in them, and why a servant is wearing such fine jewelry. It occurs to him then that the man isn’t dressed appropriately for the weather. He has no jacket, and his shirt is thin enough to be almost translucent.

“Aren’t you cold?” Arthur blurts out.

The man glances up from where he’s dunking a sheet in one of the tubs.

“All the time.”

“Then why are you dressed like this?” 

The man rolls his eyes then, “The idiot visited the Far East _once_ and thought he’d bring back some of the traditions.”

“How many bed warmers does one man need?” Arthur asks.

“Please,” the man snorts, “It really only gets that cold at night for about a week. I think he was just looking for an appropriate reason to have sex all the time instead of running the kingdom.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows, and a small grin spreads on his face, “Is Baldud aware that you speak of him this way?”

“Probably not.” The man shrugs, “Look, if you’re just going to stand there can you at least make yourself useful and help me scrub this sheet?”

“I’m a king.” 

“You still have two hands don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then give me a hand.”

“King’s don’t do laundry.” Arthur points out, torn between being offended and amused.

“No one is above doing laundry.” the man says.

“Does Baldud do his laundry?”

“No, but I also called him an idiot. So…” the man trails off and waves a handful of soggy fabric in Arthur’s direction.

Arthur shakes his head, and decides to play along. There’s something strange about this man, and it is only partially due to the complete lack of respect. Arthur rolls his sleeves up, takes handful of the sheet, and copies the man’s motions on the washboard. They fall into companionable silence, and Arthur keeps an eye on the man out of the corner of his eyes. He has two rings in the cartilage of his left ear.

“You’re staring.” the man says without turning to face him.

“Am not.” Arthur responds reflexively, and what is it about this man that reduces his responses to that of a five year old?

“You are. So why don’t you just ask whatever question you wanted to ask?”

Arthur turns his gaze fully on the other man then, pausing working on his section of the sheet.

“If you’re dressed like that coming from the east wing, I’m assuming that means you work there?”

The amused grin slips from the man’s face, and he squints in annoyance and scrubs harder at his section of sheet.

“Sort of.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I’m good at giving people what they want.” the man says, voice clipped.

“No further details?”

“Maybe if you’re less of an ass, you’ll find out yourself.”

Arthur returns his attention to the sheet, and the lapse back into silence. Another tickles at the back of his mind.

“Your accent sounds familiar. You’re not from around here.”

“Nope.”

Arthur sighs. For someone who is so openly cheeky, trying to pry details out of this man is like pulling teeth. “Where are you from?”

“Ealdor.”

“Why does that sound familiar?”

“It’s just over the ridge of Essetir.”

“You’re from Cenred’s kingdom!” Arthur exclaims.

“Yes.”

“How the hell did you end up this far north?”

“A warlord named Kanen kept attacking us. He took me with him when Ealdor finally fell.”

“Oh,” Arthur says with a grimace, “I’m sorry.”

The man looks right at him then, blue eyes hard in the torch light, “My mother asked Uther for help when Cenred refused. He told us we weren’t his problem.”

Arthur’s heart drops through his boots. He remembers now. A woman with the same blue eyes, and a large bruise marring one cheek. When he failed to convince his father to help, he’d tried to sneak out and go himself. He’d been locked in the cells for three days for his troubles.

“He was wrong.”

The man’s mouth twists a little and he hangs up the sheet to dry, “My mother said you tried to convince him otherwise. No hard feelings.”

“If he took you when Ealdor fell, how long have you been here?”

“Two years. I was shuffled around for a while first.”

“I--”

“If you say you’re sorry one more time, I’m going to hit you.” the man says, “You’re not responsible for Uther’s actions, only your own. You tried to help, and that’s what matters. Now what are the chances of you getting back to your room on your own?”

“What?”

“I’m going to get this done much faster without you pestering me for a million questions.”

“You can’t speak to me that way.” Arthur scoffs.

The man makes direct eye contact with him, and a thrill bolts through his stomach, “I just did.”

“I could have you put in the stocks.”

“You could, but Baldud wouldn’t be pleased.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” Arthur asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

The man grins and it lights up his whole face, “I told you, I’m good at giving people what they want. Now come on, you prat, I have work to do and you’re lost enough without trying to find your way from servants’ quarters.”

The man abandons his washing on the table, and leads the ways back up the narrow dark staircase. He winds his way through the corridors with practiced ease, even as Arthur feels like they’ve been going around in circles. Then suddenly they appear at his room.

“With that, I wish you a good night, my lord.”

My lord doesn’t sound so much like a title as a cleverly disguised insult.

The man turns on his heel, and starts to make his way back in the direction they came. It’s only then that Arthur realizes the man isn't wearing any shoes.

“Wait!” Arthur calls, and the man turns back, “If I should get lost again, and need your help, what name should I ask for.”

“Merlin.”


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning dawns colder than the one before it, and Arthur takes a moment to properly regret his choice to travel north in the middle of winter. It gets cold in Camelot, but this is different. He is chilled right down to his core, like he might never be properly warm again. The things he does for his people.

He staggers out of bed, hissing as his feet hit the cold stone floor. He hobbles to his trunk, trying not to let his feet stay in contact with the floor for too long. He dresses in as many layers he can, and dons his cape. It helps ward off the chill a bit. 

When he pulls on his boots, he finally starts to feel human again. He doubts he’ll get used to the cold, let alone enjoy it, but he doesn’t feel like he’s going to freeze to death either.

There’s a knock on his door, and a moment later a manservant bustles in with a breakfast tray. Arthur thinks it might be the same one who brought him the note from Baldud yesterday, but the man bustles out again before he can confirm one way or the other.

The breakfast consists of more stew, and some warm bread slathered in a thick layer of butter. It’s warm, and tastes a damn bit better than trail rations so Arthur counts it as a win. It also has the added benefit of warming him from the inside. 

He has a feeling he’ll be consuming a lot of stew while here.

After breakfast he slips from his room, and sets about exploring. He doesn’t have a destination in mind, more he wants to get a lay of the castle. Even as he tells himself that, he finds himself drifting towards the east wing. He allows himself to believe it’s because he wants to check on his men, and not because he hopes to run into Merlin.

He hasn’t laughed so hard in ages, is the thing. Kings have little time for amusement. When he hosts fellow kings and nobles at home they all know that it is a delicate political dance. He can never sit back and enjoy a good performance by a bard or jester, not the way his knights can or even the way he could when he was just a prince. Then Merlin swept in, insulted them all, and swept out to go do laundry.

Then he’d smiled at Arthur, and it was like clouds parted after months of rain. It was pure sunshine, enough to make you temporarily forget his cryptic comments and haunted eyes. Merlin is an enigma.

Arthur finds it easier to locate the east wing in the daylight. The halls still twist at strange angles when you’re not looking, but the slant of the sunlight helps him stay on track.

He makes it all the way to the bed warming quarters without running into Merlin. He isn’t disappointed.

He knocks politely at the door, and not a full heartbeat passes before it’s being opened. A young woman stands there, brown hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. She is bundled in a robe, but it’s so thin it doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Arthur keeps his eyes firmly locked from the shoulders up.

She smiles sweetly at him, “What can I do for you my lord?”

“I was just coming to check on the state of my men. Make sure they haven’t done something foolish.” Arthur informs her.

She tilts her head curiously, and she raises her hand to fiddle with the ties on his tunic, “Are you sure that’s all you want?”

Arthur sighs, and removes her hand gently but firmly, “Quite sure.”

Her nose wrinkles up in annoyance, and she takes a step back. The sweet seductiveness she was pouring between them evaporates like so much water.

“This way, my lord.”

Arthur follows her and, as much as he tries to focus on the back of her head, his gaze flickers to the side of the room as he goes. Most of the women are unoccupied and are going about their business. A few are tucked up in bed together sound asleep after a night of work. He may as well not exist for all the attention he’s getting. It’s oddly comforting.

He finds Bedivere, Kay, and Owain towards the back of the quarters. They lay in a heap of limbs with an unnerving number of women. Half asleep as they all are they don’t hear him approach.

“Not dead yet?” Arthur asks conversationally.

Owain sits bolt upright and yanks the sheet over his lap, “Sire! We weren’t expecting you!”

Arthur waves his hand, fighting an amused smile, “I was just checking on you. After all we did get a warning about murderers last night.”

The young woman who led him over makes an offended noise in the back of her throat, “It was that Merlin, wasn’t it?”

Arthur schools his face into the friendly mask he uses when dealing with hostile kings, “I will not divulge that information, my lady.”

She glares at him and the amount of vitriol in it makes him want to tuck tail and run.

“That little fjölkyngi is the only one who bad mouths us.” she snarls, “As if he’s any better than us. Just because he doesn’t have to get on his back doesn’t mean he can warn others off us!”

“I am sure it was just a joke, my lady.” Arthur responds.

His knights lie there useless, just watching the verbal altercation continue like it’s a jousting match. The young woman squints at him suspiciously, then tosses her hair regally over one shoulder and walks away.

“Somehow, sire, I don’t think you’ll be welcome back.” Kay says dryly.

Arthur shrugs, “As long as they continue to treat you well, I don’t care.”

Kay grins at him then, “I suppose you have that servant we met last night. What was he like?”

“He was pleasant company.” Arthur answers, avoiding the question he knows Kay actually asked, “If all is well here, then I’ll be going.”

“We are safe enough, sire.” Owain promises.

Arthur nods once, then makes his way back. Without his escort there, the women eye him as he walks. Some of them look at him with curiosity, probably wondering why a strange king is fully dressed and leaving without anyone on his arm. Others eye him with a hungry glint, eyeing up the opportunity to get in another king’s good graces. 

Arthur ignores them all as he leaves.

The next couple days pass in a similar fashion. He wakes, eats, checks that his men haven’t drunk themselves to death, and then explores the castle. He keeps his eye out every time he reaches the east wing, hoping to catch a glimpse of Merlin but he’s never there. Either he comes out only at night, or he doesn’t work in the east wing as often as Arthur was lead to believe. 

He also spends his days going over the documents he brought with him. Long lists of everything Camelot is willing part with, and everything it demands in return. There are tables drawn up that indicate what to ask for based on what is given. Arthur studies them all until his eyes cross, trying to commit them to memory. 

The morning of the first meeting, he is woken so early that the sun has yet to rise. Though for all the light they get here during this time of year, it could be noon for all he knows. The lack of sunlight is unsettling.

The servant leaves his breakfast tray, then sweeps from the room. All of it is done silently, and that is unsettling as well. Even perfectly subservient George makes some noise as he goes about the room, listing off agenda items and asking which shirt he would prefer. 

He dresses then heads for the room they ate dinner in that first night, and he is gratified to find all of his knights waiting for him. Although, Lancelot is the only one who looks to be in decent shape. He resists the urge to use his commanding king voice to greet them, but his normal voice still elicits a small flinch. Too much of a good thing.

The double doors swing open, and Baldud rises from his seat at the end of the table, looking overjoyed to be meeting when any decent people would still be asleep. He kisses Arthur on the cheek like he did that first day, and once again Arthur smiles and bears it. At least no one snorts this time, they’re all just as miserable as him.

“This is an excellent day in our kingdoms’ histories,” Baldud says, “Reestablishing peace. There is nothing nobler.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” Arthur replies.

They both take their seats. Documents clutter the table in front of them, though both are careful to leave anything of vital importance hidden under the mess. After all it wouldn’t do to give away too many secrets at first blush.

It’s easy to lose himself in the rapid back and forth debate. King Baldud, despite his kindly demeanor, is a talented negotiator. Arthur has to watch himself to keep from sliding into a well designed trap. None of it seems malicious, but they are both here to get the best for their kingdoms. 

Around midday Baldud calls for a break. Arthur is more grateful than he lets on. He has the beginnings of a headache pressing against his temples, and his stomach is growling.

The double doors once again swing open, and admit a collection of servants with the midday meal. To Arthur’s surprise, Merlin wanders in behind them. He looks a bit like he wandered in by mistake. He doesn’t wear the livery of the other servants, instead he is in the too thin tunic he was several nights before. The trousers are thin too, and Arthur can see his shins through the material.

He breezes over to the table where a servant had set the wine, and pours a goblet. Some of it sloshes dangerously close to the edge, but none of it spills over. Then he walks across the room, bare feet slapping softly against the stone. He comes to a stop next to Baldud’s chair, and holds the goblet out to him.

Baldud tilts his face up towards Merlin, expression soft like he’s looking at something he adores. His free hand comes up and rests on Merlin’s hip, and his thumb strokes the bone through the translucent fabric covering it.

For a moment, Merlin’s eyes flash with contempt so strong Arthur is amazed Baldud is not a smoking pile of cinders. If he hadn’t been paying attention, he would have missed it, but he’s been looking for Merlin for days and he can’t tear his eyes away. The contempt is swept away and the easy going amusement Arthur remembers from the night in the laundry returns. Merlin grins, although it doesn’t reach his eyes, and leans down to whisper something in Baldud’s ear. Baldud throws his head back and laughs uproariously. His hand tightens briefly on Merlin’s hip.

Merlin’s eyes flick up to Arthur then. Some genuine amusement creeps into the grin, and he rolls his eyes. Positioned as he is above Baldud’s head, Baldud can’t see it. It’s a face specifically for Arthur. He tries not to think too closely about why that makes his heart pound the way it does.

Merlin stays for the rest of the meeting. He moves silently around the room, pouring wine or refilling plates. Arthur keeps watching out of the corner of his eye. This Merlin is so different than the one he met that first night. That one had been brazen and smart-mouthed. The Merlin serving wine is neither of those things. Arthur would go so far as to call him soft or even subservient, and it doesn’t feel like something that comes naturally. More than once, Merlin looks like he’s going to upend the pitcher of wine on Baldud’s head, especially when Baldud gets handsy.

They call the meeting to an end just after dinner. Neither of them have the energy to keep going. Arthur rises from his seat, clasps arms with Baldud before he can plant another cheek kiss, and turns to catch Merlin’s eye. Baldud is already there, a large arm draped possessively over Merlin’s skinny shoulders. Merlin shoots Arthur a crooked, apologetic smile, then is swept out of the room by Baldud, leaving Arthur oddly bereft.

The meetings continue in similar fashion for weeks. They work all day, Arthur watches as Merlin flits around the room, wonders why Merlin shoots Baldud scathing glances when Baldud isn’t looking, and tries to get to Merlin before Baldud each night. He is never successful, and Merlin sends him that same apologetic smile each time.

Two weeks in, they call the meeting early because Baldud must answer petitions, and Arthur sees his opportunity.

“I was hoping I could be shown around the castle,” he announces as he and Baldud stand, “I have had a little chance to explore, but being shown by someone who knows this place would be helpful.”

Baldud blinks at him for a moment, then his genial smile returns, and he clasps Arthur’s shoulder with one large hand, “Of course. I would want to know the layout of the place I was staying as well. Give me a moment, and I will find a servant to escort you.”

“No need,” Arthur says quickly, “Merlin helped escort me back to my quarters the first night I was here. No need to summon someone when I am already comfortable with him.”

Baldud glances over one fur-clad shoulder to look at Merlin, “Is this true?”

“Yes, my lord. He was trying to find his way back from the east wing.” Merlin responds, voice toneless.

Baldud considers them both a moment, then shrugs, “I suppose Merlin is as good a guide as any. Take care of our guest.”

“My lord.” Merlin says and inclines his head.

Baldud and his men sweep from the room after that, and Arthur dismisses his own knights. Lancelot shoots him an amused look as they go, but steps in before Owain or Kay can make a rude comment about their king’s preferences. The double doors swing shut behind them, and silence falls over the hall.

“That was well executed.” Merlin says dryly.

Arthur turns to face him, and finds him grinning that bright grin from the laundry, “I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks.”

“Oh. I know. Thanks for ratting me out to Astra, you dollop head. She already had it out for me without your help.”

“What did you just call me?”

“A dollop head.” Merlin repeats himself.

Arthur fights back a smile, “Define dollop head.”

“In two words?”

“Yeah.”

“King Arthur.”

Arthur snorts, and starts to lose the battle against the smile, “It is treason to insult your king, Merlin.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows, “Good thing you’re not my king then.”

“Shut up.”

Merlin chuckles and jerks his head towards the double doors, “Come on. Baldud won’t be pleased if he finds out we spent the whole day in here.”

“A jealous sort is he?” Arthur asks as he follows Merlin out of the hall.

“He thinks I’m special,” Merlin responds and even though Arthur can’t see his face, he can swear Merlin is rolling his eyes, “He doesn’t like people touching his rare items.”

Arthur’s chest constricts uncomfortably, “You’re not an item.”

“Try telling him that.” Merlin responds with obvious irritation.

Arthur decides to let the subject drop. He doesn’t want to mar what time he has with Merlin by discussing unpleasantries.

“Did you really want to be shown around the castle?” Merlin asks.

“No. I know where everything is now. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Good. I’m behind on chores. I could use your help.”

“Now wait a moment, you’re not tricking me into helping you do laundry again. I’m not an idiot.”

Merlin sends Arthur a look over his shoulder that clearly reads _Are you sure about that?_

Arthur shoves Merlin’s shoulder, and to his surprise Merlin shoves him back. They rough house like that all the way down the stairs and out into the courtyard, and God is it cold. Arthur feels like his breath has been punched out of him by the icy air. He has no idea how Merlin can stand it in his pitiful excuse for garments, let alone without boots.

“Chilly?” Merlin asks.

Arthur flips him off. Merlin laughs, face creased into a wide grin.

“I’m gone for months, and this is the welcome I get?” a voice calls out.

Merlin turns at the same time Arthur does. A man about their age stands next to a horse. He’s bundled in winter clothes like Baldud’s, and his hair falls to just above his shoulders. Merlin’s face lights up in joy at the sight of him.

“Gwaine!” he shouts and charges across the courtyard, slipping precariously on the ice as he goes, “What the hell are you doing here? I thought the snow made the ridge impassible!”

Gwaine catches Merlin by the elbows before he can fall to his bony knees on the ice. 

“You know I can’t stay away from you that long, Merlin old friend.” Gwaine says with a roguish smile, “I long for your warmth when I am away.”

Arthur’s hart drops into his boots. This is the explanation, then, for Merlin’s contempt of Baldud. He has a lover, and Baldud stands between them. Arthur misses some of what is said by the sound of his own disappointment. Then Merlin’s voice rings loud and clear across the space.

“Gwaine, the day we actually sleep together is the day the world ends.”

Gwaine laughs and clasps a hand to his chest, “You wound me, my love.”

“Yeah yeah. I know. I’m horrible.” Merlin jokes.

Gwaine spots Arthur then, and he takes a deliberate step back from Merlin, “Who’s that then?”

Merlin raises a hand and gestures Arthur over. Helpless against Merlin’s draw, Arthur goes. Even knowing that Gwaine does not hold Merlin’s heart, his possessiveness flairs.

“Arthur, this is Gwaine. He’s one of the best fighters in Albion,” Merlin introduces, “Gwaine, this is King Arthur of Camelot.”

Arthur sticks his hand out, “Nice to meet you, Gwaine.”

Gwaine pumps Arthur’s hand once, then releases, “Nice to meet you too, Princess.”

Merlin makes a disapproving noise at the back of his throat. Gwaine just grins broadly in response, kisses Merlin’s forehead, mutters something about going in to warm up, and then vanishes into the castle.

“He’s…” Arthur says, trying to come up with something that won’t horribly insult someone Merlin clearly cares about.

“A drunken flirt.” Merlin finishes, “He’s a good friend to have on your side, though. Now stop slowing me down. I need to do some mending.”

He spends the rest of the day following Merlin from task to task. He remains primarily in the east wing, washing or mending. They pass a pleasant afternoon exchanging barbs.

*

Arthur finishes his signature with a flourish, then sets the quill in the inkpot. He turns to Baldud with, for once, a genuine smile. He feels like a weight is lifted from his shoulders. He never thought they’d come to blows with Baldud’s kingdom, but having it in writing makes him almost giddy.

“May this peace last many generations to come.” Baldud says solemnly, but he too is smiling.

“For many generations to come.” Arthur echoes in agreement.

Baldud claps his hands together then. The sound is bright and joyful, and servants come in bearing trays of food. Arthur loses himself in merrymaking, already praying for spring to arrive so he can return to Camelot where he belongs.

“Before I forget,” Baldud announces and the merrymaking pauses, “The coldest weeks of winter are fast approaching. I wish to give you one last thing, as a token of celebration for reaffirmed peace between our countries.”

“There is no need,” Arthur assures him much like that first night, “The peace is enough.”

“Nonsense.” Baldud insists, “It is impractical for a king and his knights to either leave their rooms to wander the cold corridors, or to huddle together for warmth. I wish to grant each of you a bedwarmer to keep you company, exclusively, for the duration of your stay.”

“Are we allowed to pick anyone we wish?” Arthur asks, praying for the answer to be yes.

“Anyone from the east wing is available for your use.”

“Then I would like Merlin.”

Baldud’s face contorts in annoyance. His normally friendly features crunch together in a pout a child would envy. Then he takes a breath, and the smile returns. 

“Then Merlin you shall have.” Baldud agrees.

Merlin is standing off to the side of the room. He has a hand clapped over his mouth, obviously trying not to burst out laughing. Baldud’s disapproving look does nothing.

“Give him what he wants.” Baldud says cryptically.

Merlin nods, crosses the room, and leads Arthur out by the hand. As soon as they are out of earshot, Merlin snorts loudly.

“Oh he hated that.”

“I’m glad I signed the peace treaty first.”

“Did you see his face?” Merlin asks, voice cracking as laughter overwhelms him.

“It was like he smelled something rotten.” Arthur agrees.

Merlin wipes some tears from his eyes, “Oh that was good.”

“So it’s alright that I requested you?”

Merlin’s grin softens, and he nods, “It’s alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fjölkyngi-- old norse; magic, black art, sorcery. Here used as a derogatory term for Merlin being a magic user.


	3. Chapter 3

Merlin slips back into the bed, and Arthur lets out annoyed huff as cold air invades the warmth of the blankets. Merlin lets out an amused chuckle, and presses his cold toes against Arthur’s shin. Arthur lets out a startled yelp, and whacks Merlin with one of the pillows. Merlin’s laugh is bright in the semi-darkness, and he tugs the pillow form Arthur’s hands and tucks it under his own head, leaving himself with four and Arthur with none.

“Why did I think it was a good idea to invite you to my bed for the remainder of winter?” Arthur grumbles.

Merlin grins, unrepentant, “Moment of insanity.”

“Clearly.” Arthur agrees and shuffles further down the bed so only the tip of his nose pokes over the covers.

Merlin takes pity on him then. He returns the filched pillows and tugs the covers up around them again, and tucks himself close to Arthur’s chest. The warmth of Merlin’s body on his chases away the last remnants of the cold and Arthur sighs in relief.

He strokes his thumb over Merlin’s cheekbone, just watching him. In moments like these, Merlin seems far away from himself, like he’s seeing the eternity of time. Arthur has only ever seen that look in men who have seen too much battle, and it hurts that the expression suits Merlin as well as the cheeky smiles.

For a lack of any other way to bring Merlin back to him, Arthur tugs playfully on the earrings in Merlin’s left ear.

“Where’d you get these?” he asks softly.

Merlin comes back to reality, but takes a second to properly register the question he was asked. Arthur can see the moment it clicks. Something triumphant and dark flashes over Merlin’s eyes, then he turns his gaze to Arthur. His chin digs slightly into Arthur’s shoulder, but Arthur wouldn’t give up that pressure for the world.

“When I escaped Kanen the first time, I got them. Was the first time I had full control over my destiny in years.” Merlin answers.

Arthur continues to fiddle with them, and Merlin tilts his head into Arthur’s hand like he’s enjoying the sensation. That’s something Arthur has learned in the last week of being cozied up to Merlin constantly, Merlin is tactile. From the look he always got when Baldud so much as brushed his hand, Arthur assumed Merlin would not want to be touched. There had been some awkward moments at first as they both struggled to understand boundaries, but they’ve settled in quite well now. Arthur figures Merlin must rely on Gwaine for his need for casual touch, and Gwaine is gone more often than not. It makes sense that Merlin would give in to touch easily from someone he trusted.

Arthur hopes, at least, that he is someone that Merlin trusts.

“The first time?” he asks softly.

“Took three tries before it stuck.”

Arthur frowns, “If it stuck how the hell did you end up here?”

That faraway look returns but not as strongly as before, “Turns out running from one man and into the arms of his enemies is not the wisest choice.”

“And Kanen?” Arthur asks. If he’s still running around, Arthur will have no concerns for cutting him down. Borders between Essetir and Camelot be damned.

“Gone.” Merlin says darkly.

A shiver runs up Arthur’s spine. He doesn’t want to think too closely about what that tone might mean.

Merlin smiles at him then, back to the bumbling clumsy fool Arthur first met. He pinches Arthur’s side playfully, “Come on. I told you some of my past, tell me some of yours.”

“I don’t think I agreed to that exchange.” Arthur points out, laughing away the tension.

“I mean you can keep to yourself if you want, but I will start singing drinking songs loudly until you tell me.”

“Did you just threaten to annoy me into submission?”

Merlin nods against Arthur’s chest, “I could also implore you with big understanding eyes, if that’s more likely to get you to agree.”

“You are infuriating.” Arthur remarks. Merlin, undeterred, sucks in a breath and sings the first note of song, forcing Arthur to clamp his hand over Merlin’s mouth, “Alright. Just stop pestering.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows challengingly, and Arthur rolls his eyes. He holds up his free hand, making the symbol of a swear with his fingers. Seemingly satisfied, Merlin settles onto Arthur’s chest again.

“I lost my mother when I was born, my father was a hard man and it is only thanks to my sister that I am not more like him.”

“No great love waiting for you back in Camelot?”

“Do you really think I’d be lying in bed with you if there was?”

Merlin shrugs, “I try not to think too hard about what I do.”

“That much is obvious.”

Merlin gives him an annoyed glare, and his hand strays dangerously close to the edge of the blankets. Arthur captures it before Merlin can lift them and let another icy gust of air into their nest.

“No,” Arthur answers, “No love waiting for me in Camelot. There was one woman for a time…”

Gwen was beautiful, and kind, stronger than anyone gave her credit for. She made Arthur’s chest ache when he met her. Sometimes, when he was particularly lonely, it still did.

“What happened?”

“Her affections lay elsewhere,” Arthur says with his own shrug, “he is a much better fit for her anyway. She’s a trusted advisor, and him a trusted knight.”

“Is it the woman Lancelot mentioned?”

Arthur looks at Merlin, face crinkling in confusion, “When did you have time to talk to Lancelot?”

“God, you royals are so oblivious. I stood next to him for the better part of a month while you worked on that peace treaty. You just didn’t hear us talking over the sound of your own ego.”

“Steady on.” 

It isn’t anything that Arthur hadn’t heard before, but coming from Merlin, even jokingly, stings. Morgana and Gwen had worked to keep him off his high horse growing up, but he knows he still has too much of Uther in him. He misses Morgana too. He can’t wait to welcome her home after all this time.

“Sorry.” Merlin says, and Arthur is surprised that Merlin means it.

“Are you this rude to Baldud?” Arthur asks, fiddling with the earrings again.

“No. I like keeping all my extremities attached to my body.”

“Are you saying I’m not as scary as Baldud?”

“I’m saying you’re not the type to chop people up for teasing.”

“Fair enough.”

Arthur squirms around to get more comfortable. As a child he’d always thought he would like to stay in bed and never leave. Now that he’s been confined to it, he knows how annoying it can be even when warm and sleepy with the right person. He settles on his back and shuffles Merlin so Merlin is half on top of him. He wraps his arms around Merlin’s back. The fluttering of his heart tells him what a bad idea this is. He’s going to have to let Merlin go at the end of this visit, he shouldn’t get too involved. Much like with Gwen, though, he’s helpless against the pull between them.

They lapse into comfortable silence. The warmth feels heavy, and Arthur struggles to keep his eyes open. He hasn’t slept this much since, well he’s never slept this much except on those rare occasions where he was deathly ill. His eyes drift shut, and he thinks perhaps the years of hard training and little sleep have finally caught up to him. He lets out a content sigh as the world starts to go hazy around him.

Chilly fingers press against his temples, startling him from his doze. He cracks open his sleep heavy eyes to look at Merlin.

“What’re you doing?”

“Just touching,” Merlin whispers, “Go back to sleep.”

Arthur hums sleepily, and sleeps back into the darkness of sleep. He drifts there a while, half aware of Merlin’s touch. Then he slips deeper into sleep, unaware of anything except his own sluggish thoughts. 

For a moment, he thinks he’s woken. Everything feels so real, and he’s in the borrowed chambers in Baldud’s castle. He can tell it’s a dream, though, not just because of the way he struggles to grasp the details, but because Merlin isn’t in the bed with him.

Fire crackles in the grate, and Arthur sits on the edge of the bed gazing at them. There’s a knock at the door, and he turns to it in his dream and calls for whoever it is to enter. A man steps inside, and Arthur can’t hold his face in his mind for long. He gets the impression that he looks a bit like a composite of all the men he’s thought of more than caring for. A touch of Leon, a hint of Lancelot, and some Merlin mixed in. Dream Man is handsome, that much Arthur knows.

Dream Man closes the door behind him, locks it, and then strides across the room. He cradles Arthur’s face in his hands, loving. Arthur is overwhelmed with a sense of safety. Dream Man dips his head, pressing his mouth to Arthur’s. A little hitch of breath escapes Arthur’s mouth, and Dream Man takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. It is perfect in the way only dream kisses can be, warm, firm, but gentle. 

Dream Man pulls back, still cupping Arthur’s face. He smiles indulgently, affection clear. 

“Lay back, sire.” He says.

Arthur shakes his head, “I want…”

Dream Man kisses him again as though he knows what Arthur is going to ask for. He pulls back again, amused.

“Lay back, sire,” he repeats, “I will take care of you. You just need to let go.”

Arthur sighs, and sinks back on the bed. Dream Man hovers over him then, kissing his way down Arthur’s chest, stomach, taking Arthur’s cock into his mouth. Arthur groans, hand snaking out to instinctively tangle in Dream Man’s hair. Dream Man takes Arthur’s hands in his, and presses them into the mattress at Arthur’s side. He slides off Arthur’s cock, and Arthur whines a little at the loss.

“I told you, you need to let go.” Dream Man reminds him.

Arthur lets himself go slack against the bed, not pushing. Dream Man smiles and rewards Arthur with another one of those perfect kisses.

“Good.” Dream Man praises, then once again slides his slick mouth onto Arthur’s cock. 

The pressure and heat leaves Arthur gasping, hands curling into the mattress to keep from reaching out. He understands, now, that he’s being taken care of. He is being treated like something precious, and he is meant simply to enjoy.

His cock twitches at the realization, drawing a low hum from Dream Man. He can feel it against his cock. He’s surprised by how much he wants what Dream Man is offering. How badly he aches for someone to care about him enough to do something like this for him. How badly he wants to feel loved, safe, cared for.

Dream Man adds tongue to his maneuver, and it sends sparks behind Arthur’s eyes. His hips buck into Dream Man’s mouth, and he expects those rough hands to pin his hips to the bed, instead they settle on his hip bones, and stroke soothing patterns into his sweaty skin. They ground him, but they don’t pin him.

Time bubbles and warps, leaving Arthur to enjoy until his mind decides it’s time to be moving on. In the dream, he spills into Dream Man’s mouth. Then, as he shakes with little aftershocks, Dream Man clambers onto the bed so he can kiss Arthur. It’s only a dream so he can’t taste himself on Dream Man’s tongue, but the intention is there and it is enough for his mind. 

He tumbles back to reality, blinking at a candle that has burned low. His vision clears and he drags a hand over his face. He still has Merlin curled in his arms, and Merlin’s nose is buried in Arthur’s neck. Little puffs of air tickle against his skin. He is relieved to notice that the dream has not caused him to press against Merlin’s hip.

He slips in and out of a light doze after that, never fully falling back into sleep. Normally this would irritate him, but he isn’t ready to go back to that dream world. He is just falling into another doze when he feels Merlin stir, stretching out the tightness that comes from being settled in one position for too long. Arthur watches Merlin’s lashes flutter against his cheeks, and when he opens his eyes Arthur’s heart constricts. Merlin is smiling, genuinely glad to realize Arthur is beside him.

“Hungry?” Arthur asks softly.

Merlin nods sleepily. Arthur shifts around so he can access the storage next to the bed without dislodging the blankets from either of them, and finally returns with a small feast of nuts, dried fruit, and dried meat. They eat in silence, careful to keep any crumbs on the top of the blankets.

When all is eaten, they settle in again, curled towards each other. Merlin’s hand rests between them on the bed, and Arthur tentatively covers it with his own. He has to hide a smile when Merlin turns his hand palm up so he can slot his finger with Arthur’s.

“I was meant to go to Camelot, you know.” Merlin says conversationally.

“What do you mean?”

“Before Kanen came, I was meant to go study with Gaius. Then Kanen came and I stayed behind to help.” Merlin explains, stroking Arthur’s hand with his thumb, “Funny how life works out.”

Feeling oddly cracked open, Arthur squeezes Merlin’s hand, “Perhaps we also needed three chances to meet before one stuck.”

“You make it sound like destiny.” 

“I don’t know if I believe in it, but I think something was trying to draw us together.”

Merlin’s smile widens a little, “I like that idea. Like thinking that I was meant for more than bumming around giving people what they want.”

“You never did explain to me what you meant by that.”

“Maybe you’ll figure it out.”

“There’s something about you, Merlin.”

Merlin shrugs, and scratches the light dusting of facial hair that had come in over their time together. It exposes the brilliant silver of one of those damn bracelets.

“Wouldn’t you like to take those off?” Arthur asks.

Merlin’s face goes dark and shuttered, “Leave it.”

Arthur resists the urge to keep plowing on with demands to know what they are. Tact has never been his strong suit, but he can try this once. He changes the subject to something else, and get Merlin to describe his life in Ealdor. The question of those bracelets remains unanswered.

Several more weeks pass in much the same way. He and Merlin lay curled together, joking and laughing. Sometimes, in quieter moments, they expose little truths about themselves. Arthur can tell there’s something Merlin is holding back, but he does not push. No matter how much they enjoy each other’s company, he can’t expect full honesty from Merlin.

The dreams continue to plague Arthur. They feature the same man, and the same gentle control even if the scenarios change. They are oddly satisfying, almost as though he was actually having a passionate affair behind closed doors. He wakes each time to Merlin next to him, and slowly Merlin’s face is the one his mind slots into place for the dream man.

Merlin is always asleep when Arthur wakes, and Arthur spends the time memorizing Merlin’s face. He ignores the ache in his chest that flairs when he considers having to leave this behind soon. He wants to carry the memory of Merlin with him.

He stumbles back to reality in the same way he’s done all the times before, groggy and disoriented. His gaze lands on Merlin as it always does. This time, though, Merlin is awake and watching him. His fingers rest on Arthur’s jaw. An electric crackle passes between them, and Arthur is filled with the same courage he felt the day he knew he wanted to kiss Gwen.

He closes the gap between the, pressing his lips to Merlin’s. It isn’t as perfect as the ones he’s shared with Dream Man, but it’s all the better for being real. Merlin kisses him back, and something unspools in Arthur’s chest. Merlin feels the same.

The end of winter rolls around far too quickly for Arthur’s liking. He watches as Merlin rolls out of the bed, and tugs on clothes he hasn’t worn in ages. Neither of them say a word as Merlin gives Arthur one last kiss, then slips from the room to never be seen again.

Arthur dresses slowly, trying to ignore the ache that hurts so badly it sends tingle into his fingers. Merlin was never his. The only way he could be is if Arthur bought him from Baldud, and that feels wrong. So wrong it’s like his very soul flinches at the idea. OS he takes a deep breath and forces himself to let Merlin go.

He eats one last dinner with Baldud. Merlin is not in attendance as a server.

He rises with the dawn the next morning. He changes into riding clothes, then sends a servant down with the trunk. He takes one last look around the room, trying to hold onto the memories it holds. He sighs, then opens his door. To his surprise, Lancelot is waiting for him.

“Do you have everything, Sire?”

“Yes. Thank you, Lancelot.” 

Arthur steps by Lancelot into the corridor. A gentle hand rests on his elbow, preventing him from marching down to the stables.

“Are you sure?”

“Oh for the love of—Just speak plainly.” Arthur snaps.

“I think you should take him with you.”

“Lancelot.” Arthur warns.

“You know I wouldn’t give you this advice if I didn’t think it was worth the consequences,” Lancelot says seriously, “This isn’t Bedivere, or Kay telling you, Sire. It’s me.”

Arthur hesitates, hope warring with fear, “You really believe this?”

“I do.”

“Go get the horses ready. We’re going to need a quick exit.”

Lancelot grins, and breaks into a run. Arthur sprints in the opposite direction. He prays that Merlin is in his room in the east wing. He skitters to a stop next at the door just a few paces passed the entrance to the bedwarming quarters, just where Merlin had mentioned it was. Not caring to wait for an answer to a knock, he rips the door open.

The pleas die on his lips. Merlin is standing at a window, rucksack at his feet. He’s dressed practically for once. Brown jacket, proper tunic in faded red, scarf, boots, and even trousers that aren’t just gauze. He looks over as Arthur enters, and his face splits into a grin.

He shoulders his rucksack, and charges the door, “Thank god. I thought you were never going to come. Let’s get out of here.”

“I’m the king, Merlin, I give the orders.” Arthur says reflexively. 

Merlin raises his eyebrows, “Right. Let’s get out of here.”

Arthur sighs but steps aside so Merlin can exit. Together they race down the servants stairs in order to avoid detection. Merlin comes up short one floor above the laundry, and pushes out into a hallway Arthur has never seen before.

“Merlin, where are you going?” Arthur hisses.

“To get Gwaine.” Merlin responds.

“Why?”

“I told you. He’s the best swordsman in Albion, and a good friend to have on your side. We need him.”

There’s no time to argue, so Arthur races down the hallway with Merlin. They reach the knights’ quarters eventually, and Merlin bursts in. Gwaine looks up, grins, grabs a rucksack as well, and exits the room without saying a word.

It is a short distance to the courtyard from there. Arthur’s knights are waiting, and mount up as soon as they see him, no doubt seeing the urgency in Arthur’s gait.

Gwaine breaks for the stables at the last second, and Merlin comes up short, “I thought you were coming with us.”

“I am, but I need to get my horse. Get out of here. I’ll catch up.”

Arthur grabs Merlin by the arm and bodily drags him to the waiting horse. They clear Baldud’s citadel like the devil himself is on their heels, but Merlin won’t stop looking over his shoulder for signs of his friend. It feels like an eternity until Gwaine comes riding up behind them.

With the entire party finally together, Arthur presses his heels against his horse’s side. Everyone follows in a full gallop, damp spring air rushing into their faces.

The horses begin to slow after a while, and it’s then that Merlin calls out, “Stop!”

“We should keep going, Merlin.” Lancelot chimes in reasonably.

“Trust me, the horses need a break, and I need to take care of something. It should only take a minute, and it’ll make all of our lives easier.”

The men all look to Arthur for direction. Arthur looks to Merlin, and there’s a seriousness there that he can’t remember seeing ever in their time together, not even when Merlin was staring into eternity. 

“We rest for five minutes. Will that be enough time?”

“Yes.” Merlin says and dismounts. Gwaine dismounts as well, and digs something out of his ruck sack. “You found it?” Merlin asks.

Gwaine nods, “I would’ve been back sooner but there was a spot of trouble with Caelia.”

“You got here before spring, that’s all that matters.” Merlin says, pushing up his sleeves.

The bracelets are still there, looking even more out of place now that he isn’t in those ridiculous excuses for garments. Arthur watches, wondering why Merlin would bother bringing them. Merlin never seemed overly fond of them.

Merlin sits on a large rock, and holds his wrists out. Gwaine kneels in front of him, handling a flat rod with dexterous fingers.

“You need to get them off fast.” Merlin says in a tone that brooks no argument.

Gwaine flicks his hair and offers Merlin a flirtatious smile. Even Arthur can tell he’s trying to mask nerves.

“I got you, my love. I won’t let you get burned.”

Arthur’s heart jumps, “Burned?”

“No offense, princess, but I need to concentrate.” Gwaine says, taking one of Merlin’s wrists in his own.

Merlin takes a deep breath, meets Gwaine’s eyes, and nods. Gwaine nods back, then jams the flat rod into the seam of the bracelet. There’s a thunderclap that shakes the trees, and Merlin hisses a breath through his teeth. The bracelet falls away, and Gwaine repeats the process with the other one. Another thunderclap.

Then there’s a rush of air that makes the hair on Arthur’s arm stand on end. With it, a brilliant golden light whips through the trees. 

Merlin’s head is thrown back, and the light pours into him. He glows a brilliant wondrous gold, and the light pulsates once, twice, then settles beneath Merlin’s skin. Merlin’s head falls forward, and he drags in a deep satisfied breath. When he opens his eyes to look at Arthur, his eyes are gold instead o blue.

Merlin gets to his feet, smiling, and turns down the road they traveled. He waves his hand, and all the tracks they created in the spring mud vanishes as though nothing ever traveled this way except for deer.

No one speaks for several long moments. Long enough for Merlin’s eyes fade to blue once more.

He turns to face Arthur then, face blank. The nervous twitch of his fingers are the only thing that gives him away. 

Suddenly lots of things make sense to Arthur. _I’m good at giving people what they want._ _Give him what he wants._ _Like thinking that I was meant for more than bumming around giving people what they want._

“Those dreams I had, that was you wasn’t it?” Arthur asks.

Merlin nods tightly.

“You’re a sorcerer.”

Merlin nods again.

“Baldud was using those bracelets to control your magic.”

Another nod.

Arthur lets out a surprised almost hysterical laugh, “Well, good thing I already had the legislation drawn up to remove the ban in Camelot.”

Merlin’s eyes widen at that, “You are?”

Arthur nods, “The sister I told you about? She has magic. She’s been in hiding for years, and I intend to bring her home.”

Merlin smiles hesitantly, “Does that mean I get to go home too?”

“Get on your horse, Merlin.”

The irritation is for show, and they all know it. He sees no reason why Morgana can’t share the title of Court Sorcerer and maybe, in a few years, Merlin can hold the title of Consort.


End file.
